You Had Me At Hello
by guineapiggie
Summary: "The man sitting next to him pointed at the pendant dangling from Tony's fingers. 'Oh, that. That's not mine, it… it belongs to a friend-' He traced the star with his fingers absent-mindedly and added, more to himself: 'I need to return it.'" He couldn't keep away from her. One-shot; rated T for language.


**You Had Me At "Hello"**

**DISCLAIMER: **I hold no rights whatsoever to NCIS or any of the movies or novels mentionned.

_***A/N* This is my first NCIS fic which just popped into my head when I watched an episode again last night. Sorry about my English, I've learned British English at school and if I try to write more American, that just ends up completely ridiculous, so...  
Anyways, enjoy!**_

* * *

Maybe he missed her. A bit.

Perhaps he missed someone rolling their eyes every time he made a movie reference, perhaps he missed receiving death threats because of those references, perhaps his fingers itched every time he made a stupid comment and nobody tried to beat him at his own game.

Maybe he secretly wanted to be slammed against a wall because of some thoughtless remark, maybe he yarned to be pierced by a deadly glare, or maybe he couldn't stand seeing his team like that.

There was nothing wrong with Bishop, he reckoned they made a good team.

A bloody good team.

But not _his_ team.

And, fine, maybe it wasn't just his team. Maybe this was about his fucked up private life and maybe he was having trouble separating it from his job life. So what?

He had waited for years, he was getting old and he was starting to wonder whether it wasn't already too late.

Every day, he caught himself staring at the desk opposite instead of the files in front of him, wondering where she was and what she was doing instead of what had happened on the crime scene.

Found himself contemplating an old photograph he could have sworn he'd deleted months ago instead of the autopsy reports.

Sometimes everything people around him said ended up in a blur of meaningless syllables and he couldn't even get himself to care. And eventually, even chasing after suspects through the streets of DC weren't enough to jerk him out of his comatose state anymore, even being shot at didn't really suffice to make him feel alive.

More than once over the last couple of months he'd woken up to find his pillow mysteriously wet, not to mention his sleep left him feeling more exhausted every morning.

.

.

"Another dead marine on the parking lot. Get your things."

"Okay, boss."

"Not you, McGee. I need you to check Harrelson's phone, don't lose sight of him for a second. Don't even blink. We're not losing him again."

"Yes, boss."

"DiNozzo, Bishop, with me."

"Yes, boss."

_Hang on. That's not the right voice, that's not-_ Tony looked up to see a blonde agent opposite him grabbing her backpack.

Oh, right. Ellie Bishop. Who was his colleague. Because _she_ wasn't his colleague anymore.

Which hadn't kept him from expecting to see _her_ at that desk, that controlled excited spark in her eyes and that hard smile around her lips.

"You two coming yet?"

"Yes, boss," Bishop called. Tony couldn't help thinking her voice sounded completely wrong.

And then it hit him.

He didn't remember her voice. _He couldn't recall the sound._

Thinking with half his mind that he was behaving like an addict, he jerked his desk drawer open and groped for the Star of David's necklace without taking his eyes off the desk opposite.

How could he have forgotten?

His breathing eased a little when his fingers closed around the small pendant.

"DiNozzo!"

Gibbs was starting to sound seriously annoyed but, another sign for just how off-track he was, he didn't really care.

"Tony." McGee had got up - when had he got up? - and stood in front of his desk, a look of worry on his face. "Hey. Anyone home?" He snapped his fingers in front of Tony's face.

His decision was made and his hand clenched around the necklace. "Yes."

"Tony, you okay?" McGee asked with a frown.

He threw McGee a forced grin, shoved the necklace in his pocket and pocketed his badge and his gun. "Yes. Fine. Peachy. No worries, Timmy."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs came stomping towards him, looking sour. Clearly hadn't had his coffee yet. "Why are we waiting for you?"

"Don't," Tony gave back, thinking his voice sounded sort of odd. "I'm taking leave, boss."

"What, now?" Gibbs gave back incredulously.

"Yes. There's something I need to do." He nodded stupidly, a small voice in his head yelling at him how goddamned ridiculous he was behaving. "Some unfinished business. Can't be put off."

McGee's frown deepened and Bishop threw him a highly confused glance, but Gibbs looked him for a moment and then gave a curt nod. "Then you should take care of that unfinished business."

Tony nodded.

"Leave your badge, DiNozzo. Good luck." He leaned over to take the badge from him and added in a low voice: "Say hello to her for us."

"Of course. Thank you, boss."

An odd, prickling sensation spread in his stomach. He watched Gibbs and Bishop step into the elevator, then turned to McGee. "Feel free to try and refuse, McGee, but I need you to find someone for me."

"Tony, I can't, I need to keep an eye on Harrelson-" McGee said, staring at him, belying his own words. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Not more than usually, anyway. McGeek, multitask!" He slammed his hand on his colleague's desk impatiently. "Please. Help me. Help me find her."

"Find who?"

Tony groaned and threw an exasperated look at him. "Did you really not figure that one out yet? What sort of an agent are you?"

"I…" He looked even more confused now.

Jaw clenched, Tony leaned over the desk, his nose almost touching his colleague's. "Find. Ziva."

.

.

The roaring of the plane was a relief. Finally, he felt alive, like he was waking up.

"Shalom," his neighbour said suddenly.

Tony looked up in confusion.

"Star of David," the guy answered slowly, indicating the pendant dangling from Tony's fingers.

"Oh, that. Right." Tony forced a smile on his face. "That's not mine, it… it belongs to a friend-" He traced the star with his fingers absent-mindedly and added, more to himself: "I need to return it."

"So you'll be visiting your friend in Tel Aviv?" The man asked pleasantly.

"Yeah," he answered slowly, then shook his head and muttered: "More like… don't know, does it count as visiting if she doesn't know I'm coming?"

"Surprise visit," the other suggested.

"Yeah, that's it. And you?"

"Uh, business trip. Meeting up with our trade partner in Israel. Much less exciting, I'm afraid."

"Exciting…" he sighed. "That's a good way to put it. I like that."

The business man next to him threw him a slightly confused glance, then returned to his newspaper, having obviously decided that Tony was not up to a pleasant small-talk.

Tony stared at the sun setting over the towering clouds outside and ran the necklace through his fingers, the address McGee had given him echoing through his head.

.

.

He didn't know what he was expecting. His mind had somehow conjured up an image that strongly reminded him of The Graduate. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see himself storming up the aisle of a synagogue (even though he wasn't entirely sure synagogues actually _had_ an aisle) and yelling something along the lines of "I object" (even though he wasn't entirely sure whether that line came up in a Jewish wedding ceremony).

He could see her standing there, in a long dress, white lace, with a luxurious skirt to hide the gun strapped to her thigh. He could see shiny dark curls flowing over her shoulder as she turned her head to look at him, see her brown eyes widen in surprise.

He never gave the groom a thought, and why would he? It was _his_ damned imagination, and it was all about her after all. It was a ridiculous, shockingly romantic imagination, but she did look stunning in it, so he didn't really mind the mental image.

Of course it wasn't going to end up being like a Hollywood movie - even though he had watched enough to stage a similar scene.

Tel Aviv was hot, even hotter than he remembered. The flat McGee had indicated was let on the name of Ziva David and her landlord - who took over half an hour of persuasion just for a handful of information - confirmed that she came home every night, meaning she indeed lived in that flat and didn't just rent it to lay a false trail.

But she wasn't home.

He considered waiting in front of her door until she turned up, but then dismissed the thought. It would probably piss her off instead of giving her a pleasant surprise.

And anyway, he _had_ said Hollywood.

.

.

.

Ziva was tired. Her work was consuming, not more than her work in America had been, but suddenly, the Mossad lacked something. She tried to ignore the feeling, knowing it was silly - it had been so long now, and she was being pretty damn sentimental to still be missing them.

But, she thought resignedly as she dug her key out of her bag, she could not actually deny that she was.

She was just about to lock the door behind herself when she spotted the note on the worn wooden floor.

White, printing paper, folded once. A sentence written over it in capital letters, blue ballpoint pen.

_FOR YOUR EYES ONLY_

English. Who would write her a message in English?

A James Bond. Short story by Ian Fleming, published in 1960, in a collection of the same name.

Movie with Roger Moore, 1981.

Ziva shook her head. This was not getting her anywhere.

She bent down and picked it up carefully. There was more on the inside, in the same, oddly familiar handwriting.

_I'VE STILL GOT SOMETHING OF YOURS, MEET ME THERE, 10 PM_

The address underneath was familiar, too, it was a café down the street, she liked a coffee there every now and then. Below the address stood something else, like a signature, but it did not mean a thing to her.

_TSWLM_

Ziva frowned, then put the mysterious note in her pocket and threw a look at her watch.

Ten to ten.

With a sigh, she shoved her knife back in place and left again, still trying to remember where she had seen that writing before.

.

.

_I've still got something of yours._ She was not sure whether this was supposed to be a threat, and even more uncertain whether she should take it seriously.

But who cared, she was much more dangerous than anyone who would try to blackmail her.

The café was obviously empty, it was late. Empty except for a table in the corner, where a man sat with his back to her. His hair was unusually light for an Israeli, and his clothes too heavy and too warm.

Foreigner.

Not that she would have needed any of that, because she recognised that man.

Would have recognised him anywhere.

Her purse slipped from her fingers.

"Tony."

He turned around to look at her, an expression on his face that she had only seen once in her life.

That night on the airport, that last moment.

_Hardest 180 of my life._

"Hello Ziva." It was a relief to hear that voice again, a much greater relief than she would have liked to admit.

But no need to let him see that. "Well, not quite 180 degrees, was it?"

He just smiled and nodded towards the seat opposite him. "Come on, sit down, have a coffee with me. I've flown halfway across the world to see you."

"I said I need to leave it all behind, Tony," she said stubbornly, fighting to keep her voice level, and did not make a move towards the chair. "That includes you."

"I gave you two years to fix it."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, not quite sure whether she was angry, happy, sad or somewhere in between.

"I told you, I still have something that's yours," he replied calmly, holding out his hand to her. Her Star of David necklace dangled from his fingers. "Sit down, Ziva. Please."

With a frustrated sigh, she dropped down on the chair, glaring at him, but he just smiled.

"There was no need to make it sound like blackmail," she growled, but, to her immense frustration, that just made his smile widen even more.

"I told you it was me."

She got the note out and shoved it across the table with an angry little laugh. "I do not see your name on there."

"A riddle, thought you liked those, Ziva."

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to go on.

With a sigh, he picked the note up and held it out to her. "What's this?"

"A James Bond. I should have known your first words to me would be a movie quote."

"Right, a James Bond. And this?" He pointed at the senseless signature.

"An abbreviation?"

"Yes…?"

"Did you really come all this way to waste my time, Tony?"

"I've wasted my last two years, trust me, I've had enough of wasting time, Ziva. Come on, it's simple."

He sat back and waited, his eyes taking in every inch of her. She almost blushed.

"It is another James Bond, is it not?"

"Yeah, a silly joke," Tony shrugged, "thought you'd guess."

"You said you told me it was you."

He chuckled, sipping at his coffee. "_The Spy Who Loved Me_. Roger Moore."

She rolled her eyes, but could not help a little laugh. "That is ridiculous."

"I thought it would be good to make you laugh before you shot me."

His eyes were still firmly linked with hers and would not let her go.

"I have missed you." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

A proud smile stole on his lips. "Me too. And the others. Gibbs sends his love."

"Thank you." She stared at his hands on the table for no apparent reason. "You were supposed to keep that," she added out of the blue and nodded towards the necklace.

He put it down on the table and shook his head, the smile gone from his face.

"I don't want to keep it, Ziva," he answered, his voice low and intent. "I don't want a stupid necklace. I want _you_."

She tried to string a coherent sentence together, but he did not give her enough time.

"Come back with me," he said, his eyes bearing into hers with a touch of desperation. "Come back with me, or tell me to give it up."

"And if I told you that?" she asked quietly.

He did not even look sad, his expression was almost clinical. "I'd go back to DC and never get in touch again."

"Just because I cannot come back with you that does not mean that it was my wish to never see you again in my life."

What was he even thinking? That he could just come to Tel Aviv, sweep her off her feet and convince her to ignore every choice she had made in the past years?

He finished his coffee and answered with a wry, tired smile: "Look, I thought I could take this, you know, all the maybe-one-day-or-maybe-not shit, but I can't, not anymore. I'm afraid I've got old. I need an answer."

She shook her head, trying to ignore the memory of the last time she had seen him that kept popping up in her mind without warning. "I have work here, Tony. How do you think this should-"

He interrupted her, a new spark in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to leave it all behind and run away with me, Ziva. I'm asking you to talk to your boss and ask to be transferred back. We'd take you, Gibbs would do it in a heartbeat. I think even Vance misses you. Abby would be over the moon."

"What makes you think that after two years you can just turn up here and drag me back?" she asked, with half her mind wanting to yell at him in frustration and with the other half wanting to reach over the table and kiss him.

He shrugged and, despite their different surroundings, despite the fact so many years had passed, his smile was just the same when he replied: "Couldn't live without you, I guess."

Ziva bit her lip, trying to fight the tears that filled her eyes. Damn this man. Damn him and his cursed childish ideas and his bloody American-dream attitude.

And damn the fact he could just waltz in and knock her whole life over with a few sentences and a smile.

She caved in. "I give you one day to convince me, Tony." Her voice sounded a little shaky and she knew he heard it, too. "You _are_ an idiot, though, and very full of yourself."

"That's what you like about me," he gave back, that boyish grin she'd missed so much back on his face.

"Idiot," she repeated, shaking her head and smiling at him.

He got to his feet and took a bill from his wallet. "I'll convince you, don't worry. Maybe not _here_," he added with a smirk. Then, his eyes still on her, he picked the necklace up again and stepped behind her. "I've carried that around with me long enough."

.

.

.

He took his time, pushing her silky dark hair aside to put the necklace back where it belonged.

She turned around, crossing the last bit of distance left between them. A mischievous little spark lit up her eyes and competed with the shimmering Star of David around her neck. A single curl had fought its way back on its place and fell into her eyes.

A smile stole on his lips and he nodded. "That's much better."

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. But instead, she gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss that took him completely by surprise. He took a heartbeat to react, bury his fingers in her silky curls and hold her closer, feeling breathless and dizzy.

For the first time that he kissed her, it didn't feel like goodbye.

* * *

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